


to save a sunflower

by madin456



Category: Wonder Egg Priority (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, all canon trigger warnings apply, the mortifying ordeal of making new friends and letting go of old ones, written before the release of ep 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 02:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30081855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madin456/pseuds/madin456
Summary: The rules of the universe are simple: redemption isn’t always granted to those who seek reprieve, and the dead don't come back to life.Ai knows this, in theory.
Relationships: Aonuma Neiru & Ohto Ai, Kawai Rika & Ohto Ai, Ohto Ai & Sawaki Momoe
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	to save a sunflower

**Author's Note:**

> sorry to anyone who has me on their author alerts bc i keep writing for different fandoms lmao but what can i say? wonder egg priority is simply the best show to come out in the 2021 winter anime season. and to the people who have written fics for the wep fandom here on ao3 before me, you’re doing god’s work my friends. let’s build this fandom from the ground up.

_With Neiru, we see Ai at arguably her most genuinely heroic: trying to forge a new friendship._  
— [Atelier Emily](https://formeinfullbloom.wordpress.com/)

Koito Nagase is warm.

This shouldn’t be possible, but Ai can’t deny her own senses when she places a hand on the metallic surface that makes up Koito’s skin. Her other hand follows, trembling as it cradles the side of her face. It’s there, she forces herself to acknowledge, eyes wide with a scream caught halfway up her throat. It’s there—a pulse, a heartbeat. Proof that Koito can be saved.

Overhead, grey clouds cover the wide expanse of the sky, a low rumble echoing all around. Ai’s own heart lurches forward, grasping desperately at even the most minute signs of hope, and for a moment, she swears she forgets how to breathe.

But the problem is that while Koito may feel alive, she doesn’t look like it. She _looks_ like a statue, a sculpture, a girl frozen in time. She looks… dead.

Ai stands on her tiptoes and leans in to bring their foreheads together. She lets out a shaky breath, feels the trickle of a raindrop rolling down her cheek, and aches in places that have long since grown numb.

The rules of the universe are simple: redemption isn’t always granted to those who seek reprieve, and the dead don't come back to life. Ai knows this, in theory.

But still—she has to _try_. 

.

Aonuma Neiru is reserved in all the ways Ai is not, which makes communication between them stiff and awkward at first.

Neiru sits down on the bench next to Ai, her hands folded neatly in her lap, all prim and proper and not a single spec of dust out of place. The suitcase carrying a dozen or so eggs rests by her feet, always within reach. Ai takes note of the way Neiru’s hair is meticulously braided, counts exactly seven clips holding back the bangs on her left side—no more, no less—and it’s such a stark contrast to Ai’s own unkempt style that she can’t help but find herself intrigued.

They’re aiming for the same goal, ultimately. That’s what the eggs are for. But beneath the headstrong determination that is easy to spot in Neiru’s mannerisms and her straight-forward style of speech, there is desperation disguised as fearlessness crawling to the forefront of her actions—a self-destructive quality that only festers and grows in environments like these. Like the kind of games they’re forced to play.

“Why do you fight?”

Neiru’s tone of voice has Ai jolting upright, spine straightening on instinct. She speaks with an air of authority that comes with being the president of a well-established company at the age of fourteen, and it’s intimidating, sometimes. More often than not. But the more time they spend together, the more Ai is beginning to understand that her bluntness isn’t malicious or accusatory; it’s genuine, sincere.

“I want to…” Ai pauses, choosing her words carefully. There are a lot of things she wants—to save Koito, to find meaning in living, to finally feel like herself again after long months spent locked up in her own house—but the question isn’t asking what she wants; the question is asking why she _fights_. And to that, there’s only really one answer: “I want to find out the truth.”

She thinks back to the time when she saw Koito pressed up against Sawaki-sensei’s body in the middle of an otherwise empty classroom. The afternoon sunlight bleeding through the windows that seemed to drown out everything else. The slight turn of Sawaki-sensei’s head, the careful narrowing of his eyes.

The chills that ran down her spine when she pieced all those things together and realized what they implied about her trusted teacher, about her _best friend_ —

Ai squeezes her eyes shut, willing the memories to subside. When she opens them again, Neiru is looking directly at her like she gets it, somehow. Maybe even feels the same way.

“You’re the same as me,” Neiru says, face softening just a fraction. Her next words are curt as always, but they don’t match the tenderness of her voice or the way she speaks as though she’s simply reciting the morning news. “My sister stabbed me, then ran away and jumped off a bridge. That’s what the doctors said, at least, but I want to figure out what happened for myself. All I’m left with is a scar and I’ll never be at peace until I know the truth.”

“Scar…?”

Something like a smile dances across Neiru’s lips. “Do you want to see it?”

Ai nods fervently, eyes widening as her curiosity wins over any semblance of restraint. She holds her breath, leaning in to watch Neiru pull down the white collar of her dress with nimble fingers, just far enough for the top half of her scar to be exposed.

And that—that isn’t just a normal wound. Ai can count at least three large gashes trailing from the base of Neiru’s neck, past her shoulder blades, all the way down her lower back. The flesh has been ripped apart, blistering open and raw. It’ll likely never heal completely.

Tingles spread along Ai’s own spine, causing her to shudder. As much as Neiru portrays herself to be invincible on the outside, Ai can sense fragility and agitation on the inside. Maybe there is a reason why Neiru never allows herself to relax her posture. Maybe, if she begins to slump backward even a little bit, every shred of her composure that has been carefully maintained up until now will come crumbling down all at once.

Shuffling closer, Ai reaches out to trace the outline of the scar. Her fingers are cold against the touch of skin, but Neiru shows no indication of being bothered by it.

“Does it still hurt?”

Neiru lets go of her grip on the collar of the dress and turns around to face Ai, the shield of clothing effectively hiding the scar once again.

“Yes,” she answers. “It aches whenever I try to forget about my sister.”

Ai inhales and it’s as though all the emotions that Neiru doesn’t allow herself to feel are rattling inside her lungs like broken glass shards. There is nothing she could possibly say to someone in that situation, no condolences she could offer that would be meaningful enough to even come close to the amount of anguish Neiru has to endure every day, so she leans over and simply wraps her arms around Neiru instead.

For now, she holds on as tightly as she can.

.

Kawai Rika is loud. And brash. And overly arrogant to a fault.

She appears in front of Ai’s doorstep entirely without warning, crouched down next to the entrance of her apartment like they’ve known each other for years. Ai stares at her and Rika stares back, expectant. Her mouth splits into a grin, right hand holding up a peace sign. She really is pretty enough to be an idol, Ai admits begrudgingly, even if her smile is a little too forced, a little too fabricated.

Sighing, Ai gives in eventually and unlocks the door to her apartment. When she steps out of the way to let Rika inside, it feels something like inviting a hurricane into the privacy of her own home. Rika has no qualms about invading other people’s space, touching all of Ai’s personal belongings and eating the food offered to her in large gulps. She grows comfortable too soon, too fast, and they spend the whole afternoon like that: Rika pushing boundaries and Ai being too polite to formally tell her to stop.

When evening arrives, Rika announces more than asks that she’s going to stay the night. Before Ai can even begin to formulate a protest, she’s already claimed the bed as her own, sinking down into the mattress with a content sigh. In retaliation, Ai drags her out immediately and tells her not to dirty the sheets.

Rika is loud and brash and overly arrogant to a fault, which is why Ai learns the most about her when she's listening to Rika's silences. Outside the washroom door, the sound of running water filling the bathtub is a soft hum that penetrates through the walls. Ai brings a clean set of clothes for her and knocks a hand against the wood.

“You know, if you stay in the water for too long, your skin will become wrinkly,” she calls out.

Seconds pass and there’s no indication that Rika has heard her. Ai leans forward, straining her ears by the door. The sound she hears is faint, muffled by the wall between them, but it’s also unmistakable—a sharp intake of breath from the other side, a clatter of metal against stone tiles. Rika curses and Ai pointedly decides not to ask.

By the time she comes out almost an hour later, Ai is already in bed. Rika’s footsteps are quiet against the wooden floorboards and soon enough, Ai hears the _click_ of the light switch, sees darkness enveloping the room through her closed eyelids. The blanket rustles as Rika tucks herself in the unoccupied space beside Ai.

Ai very carefully does not react, feigning sleep and forcing her body to stay still, each exhaled breath controlled and even. She squeezes her eyes shut, already knowing what she’ll see if she turns around: the remnants of a slow-dragging razor leaving behind thin markings on pale skin, a staircase climbing up the length of Rika’s forearm. Brandings of self-loathing etched onto her own body, faded just enough that anyone who catches a glimpse of it would likely dismiss the depth of each cut.

And suddenly, all of her actions will make sense in a way that Ai never wanted them to.

Next to her, Rika rolls over in her sleep, limbs sprawled out to all four corners of the bed. An arm drapes over Ai’s stomach; a leg slides between Ai’s calves. They’re pulled closer together with each passing minute until Rika has her in a death grip and all she can hear is the soft snores echoing directly into her ear.

She makes no move to push Rika away, and wonders if this, too, is a cry for help.

.

Sawaki Momoe is unconventional, and Ai thinks that is exactly why she immediately feels a connection to her. Finds solidarity in their shared differences.

Standing under the flickering yellow lights of the train station, Momoe’s face splits into a grin as soon as she sees Ai approaching. In return, Ai waves back with equal vigor. They find out quickly that they’re going in opposite directions, but it doesn’t stop them from standing together on the platform, taking in each other’s presence for as long as they can.

The trains aren’t scheduled to come for another twenty minutes, so Ai allows her mind to wander, allows her eyes to gravitate in Momoe’s direction. She doesn’t bother hiding the fact that she’s staring because she’s not ashamed. Shadows dance across the high-rise of Momoe’s cheekbones and it really isn’t Ai’s fault if she finds herself mesmerized by the way they accentuate Momoe’s natural features.

A minute passes before Momoe senses Ai’s attention on her. She glances over, head tilting in confusion, but all it does is expose the smooth skin of her neck even more.

“You’re really pretty,” Ai blurts out, tactless. It would be embarrassing if she hadn’t already said those exact words to Momoe before, next to the sliding glass doors of a corporate building, back when they had still been strangers. The time and place may be different, but Ai means it wholeheartedly all the same.

“You said that last time too,” Momoe laughs, a breathy sound, almost as though she’s simply humouring the idea. “Thank you, but… I’m not.”

Every time Ai compliments Momoe, she is met with a similar sentiment. It makes her frown, makes her want to say _you are_ and have it be convincing enough that Momoe has no choice but to agree.

Instead, she reaches out to place a hand flat on Momoe’s chest and keeps it there, unmoving. The fabric of the sweater shifts slightly under her palm, a size too big, but nowhere near big enough to hide the femininity of a girl’s body underneath it.

“I like this part of you,” Ai says, gaze trailing up to map the broad span of Momoe’s shoulders and the boyish cut of her hair, “as much as I like every other part of you.”

Momoe smiles, soft and genuine, full of relief. She reciprocates by reaching out to brush away the bundle of hair covering the left side of Ai’s face, looks into the deep blue of her eye, and responds, “I like this part of you, too.”

.

The Seeno Evils chase them to a cliff—to the edge of the world.

Blue skies span the heavens, a cascade of clouds rolling like tumbleweeds from one side to the other. Ai finds herself sandwiched between Neiru, Rika, and Momoe, with the girl of this realm hidden protectively behind her. Below them lies a wide chasm of open space. One wrong step and they’ll go spiraling down, down, down.

“We need to break through.” Ai grits her teeth. Even as she says those words, she can tell it won’t be an easy task; a wall of enemies is bouncing their way, pushing them further into the corner, and closing off their only exit.

“You two run,” Neiru instructs, lifting up her gun and aiming it in front of them. “The rest of us will create an opening for you and hold them off.”

It’s the closest thing to a plan they have and Neiru doesn’t wait for a confirmation. She curls a finger around the trigger, shoots the first bullet without any hesitation, and the force of the blast is strong enough to blow away an entire row of Seeno Evils. Blood splatters stain the grass red, but she hardly even blinks, wasting no time in repositioning herself and locking her gaze on a new target. Set, aim, fire. Again and again.

Meanwhile, Rika and Momoe flank to opposite sides, moving to get within range and swinging their own weapons to take out as many opponents as they can before giving them a chance to retaliate. Rika fights like a madman, all daring grins and swooping arches of her scissor-blade, charging directly into the heart of the battle. Momoe’s attacks are more concentrated, eyes laser-focused, jabbing her spear with purposeful movements.

In the middle, a path opens up. Ai grabs the girl’s hand and breaks into a sprint.

It’s a million versus five, but they’ve had worse odds before. Ai doesn’t stumble; not when a few Seeno Evils inevitably break through their defenses to chase after her, and not when they begin to morph into Haters. She maintains a steady pace, already thinking of her next move as she clenches the jewel around her neck to call upon Leon with a whispered _veni_.

Her chameleon pomander appears as a gatekeeper, gobbling up any Haters that try to pass through. This gives Ai enough time to lead the two of them into a nearby forest, using the tall trees as cover while they catch their breaths. They’re safe, for the moment, but Ai knows how these egg-cracked worlds work by now: the Seeno Evils and Haters are just distractions. There’s still a main boss they have to defeat; a Wonder Killer hiding somewhere in the vast scenic landscape all around them, biding its time. Waiting to strike.

Ai tightens her grip on the retractable ballpoint pen in her hand. She pivots on her feet, turns back to make out the silhouettes of her friends in the distance, and counts her blessings—all three of them.

.

Neiru is reserved and Rika is loud and Momoe is unconventional.

Ai thinks she loves each of them enough to finally let go. Move on.

.

Rika is the one who announces it officially, bringing their convictions into reality with a voice loud enough to shake away any echoes of doubt they may have in their hearts. She stands with her feet spread shoulder-width apart, pointing a finger at both Acca and Ura-Acca. “We’re leaving!”

It’s only two words, but they hold an infinite number of meanings; among others, what they really want to convey is: _We’re not coming back. We don’t need you anymore. We have each other now._ There is a certain strength in giving their resolutions a voice, and Rika is equally fearless as she is charismatic when she makes this declaration of war. Ai thinks she can come to admire this side of her, easily.

The sky is overcast outside, but the garden is deceptively warm and sunny, like it always is. Ai suspects this place is something of a pocket dimension carved out from the rest of the world, existing in solitude. Fresh air circulates, the gentle fragrance of wildflowers wafting in the breeze, and it’s as enticing as it needs to be in order to lure unsuspecting girls into a botanical trap of too-good-to-be-true dreams. Girls exactly like them.

In his seat, Acca tilts his head in their direction like he can’t quite understand why they would come to such a conclusion, shoulders slumping beneath his navy suit. “You’re giving up?” He makes a sound of detached disappointment. “Are young female relationships truly so fragile these days?”

“You could probably save them, you know,” Ura-Acca chimes in from across the table, gloved fingers _tap-tap-tapping_ on the handle of his walking stick, “with just a few more eggs.”

“Poor Koito. Poor Aonuma. Poor Chiemi and Haruka.”

Those words almost make Ai laugh because they’re just more empty promises, more manipulation. The same tactics over and over, and it’s painful to know that it worked on all of them, once upon a time.

But now—now, she hears them for what they really are.

The four of them exchange glances, steeling their resolve and not bothering to dignify Acca or Ura-Acca with a response. From where they stand, the _gachapon_ is still visible down the path behind the lush greenery that grows in the garden, filled to the brim with wonder eggs of all colours. Ai stares it down, links her arms with the others, and deliberately turns away. Their hearts won’t be swayed anymore.

Because the rules of the universe are simple: redemption isn’t always granted to those who seek reprieve, and the dead don't come back to life. Ai knows this now, with clarity. They all do.

A patch of blooming white daffodils bid them farewell on their way out, and the meaning is not lost to any of them.

**Author's Note:**

> daffodils represent moving on and new beginnings/friendships! i had to include at least one instance of flower symbolism since the show uses so much of it.
> 
> please feel free to scream about wep with me any time on [tumblr](http://chaasiu.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/chaasiu)


End file.
